I found Dom's journal. She was going to use it to write about our son. The doctor said it'd be better if I used it; apparently writing distracts you and you're able to identify your problems if you write them down. Dom's dead, and so is my unborn son. There, did it. I've identified my problem. I don't feel that much better. The guys at the station want me to come over for a barbecue, said they'd buy me a beer and just talk about it, but I don't want to talk. I just want to be alone.

July 5th, 2001

If God has a plan for everyone, then what was my sons plan? Was it to die prematurely? That's a terrible plan if I've ever heard one. I've spent the past few days praying, yet I don't feel Him. I feel alone, forsaken. Mom and dad have tried to comfort me by making me my favorite lemon chicken. It was also Dom's favorite...

August 1st, 2015

Hey, would you look at that, I found it! This little journal was trying to hide from me! Wow, did I write those entries? Dang, that was back when... yeah. Wow, I was miserable. I still miss them both, of course, but I think time has healed me for the most part. I'm on good terms with God again, though that wasn't easy let me tell you. After they passed I ended up quitting my job down at the fire station and started going to church more often to find some sort of answer, to no avail. I went to a seminary for four years, learning all about the Catholic Church and the Creator of the universe. I think I've been able to find some kind of answer, but I'm not sure if I'm digging it... Gonna have to keep looking, I guess. Riots have broken out in the little city next to us, and freaking Mary is out and about doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who. She's probably getting it on with some rioter guy she met at a club because she things rebel boys are cute, or something. Riots are over some new 'miracle' pill that's supposed to help you live forever or something. I don't know why someone would want to live forever. Well, in this world. Mary may be 26, but she's still living in my house, and that means she's going to follow my rules. First things first, I'm going to check into a hotel in Rochester and find Mary. It's just not safe for her to be outside.

Dominique McNeal (Wife): My beautiful wife. She's been gone for years now, but I can't be sad. She's with the Lord now, and knowing that helps ease the pain. Still, I miss her dearly, and I hope to see her again someday.

Benjamin McNeal (Dad): My oh-so stoic dad. I don't think I ever really had the chance to thank him for raising me the way he did. If it weren't for those beatings, I would probably be off working at a McDonald's somewhere. He passed not too long ago, a little bit after my mom died. He taught me how to hunt, and when his construction friends flaked on him, he'd bring me along to help build his newest projects. May he rest in peace.

Emma McNeal (Mom): My loving mother. Every so often I remember to thank God for allowing me to have such an amazing mom for as long as I did. I remember how she'd defend me whenever my dad would threaten to pull the belt out. She taught me to stand up for myself, and that I shouldn't be afraid of those bigger than me if they were doing wrong, because God was always right, and therefore I was working for God when I was working against them. She was also the one that taught me that a husband could never win an argument with his wife. Love you, mom.

Mary McNeal (Younger Sister): I don't even know how to begin with Mary. Half of me loves her to death, the other half of me just wants to strangle her for doing all these crazy escapades. I don't know what her deal is, you don't see me going around partying, probably doing drugs, and having sex with whoever walks in front of me. I've tried to be a good role model, but I guess I've failed at that. I'm going to go back-packing with her someday. We'll go on a pilgrimage to Rome, or Jerusalem. Maybe that'll set her straight.

Gav Woodgrave (Acquaintance): Typical rich kid. His daddy's some big, hot shot businessman, or lawyer, or stock broker, or whatever. Gav's obnoxious, narcissistic, disrespectful, pretty much every cliché word that you could use to describe most wealthy people. To make things worse, he's a cop, so nobody can ever physically put him in his place unless they wanna be hauled downtown. Maybe I'm just being too hard on him... he has kept the church safe from all manners of drunks and violent, coked up hobo's. I guess he's a necessary evil.

Jasmine Kell (Local): Smart girl. Real smart. I see her around town every once in a while, and being the friendly guy I am, I introduced myself, and from there we just talked about whatever was on our minds. She didn't really talk much, and when she did she was always really straight-forward, and I'm afraid she could offend somebody. Note to self: Don't ever talk about politics with her. She never, never shuts up about it. She's a social anarchist, I think. I don't question it, and I wouldn't dare tell her that I voted Republican.

Jacob Macmera (Parishioner): One of the only people I see semi-regularly in Mass. We haven't spoken much, but I see him maybe once every two weeks, always in the same spot on the same pew. He works at the local hardware store, some knock-off Home Depot or whatever. I go maybe once a month to get things for the house (Mary is always breaking things). "Cash or Credit?" That's like, his favorite saying.

Last edited by VonBraun on Wed Aug 19, 2015 10:57 pm; edited 11 times in total